


Acorns and Oak Trees

by lahijadelmar



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, F/M, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Rewrite, Wedding Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 16:21:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2818538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lahijadelmar/pseuds/lahijadelmar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Strange', Bilbo sometimes thinks, 'that so little a thing as an acorn could change everything for the better!'</p>
<p>An overly optimistic rewrite of the ending of The Hobbit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Acorns and Oak Trees

Bilbo came-to in blurred, swirling flecks of golden light shining through from thick cloud cover. He had two thoughts at once: the snowing will have begun to break and the sunlight peeking through was not unlike the yellow glow of the Erebor gold…just, _kinder, warmer_ somehow. This latter thought blessedly reminded him of Thorin, of the last he remembered before being undoubtedly knocked on the head and collapsing.

In his panic he scrambled for Sting, paid no mind to the uneasy wavering of his eyesight or the way his legs tried to give out underneath him. All he really cared about in this moment was reaching Thorin and finding him alive.

He didn’t have to search long. Thorin, being pinned to the ice by Azog and the impending stab of the Orc’s sword, awaited him below. Bilbo felt a tight grip seize his heart in knowing his Dwarf King would die if he did not act soon.

Bilbo was a clever, witty Hobbit on a good day, and ever a brave one when his wits were compromised by desperation. Some combination of this came together when he grabbed the acorn from Beorn’s garden from the inner pocket of his tunic and tossed it, deftly, at Azog’s large head.

Azog was far smarter than the average Orc, but his pride would not allow him to ignore such an act of blatant defiance. Bilbo didn’t care when Azog immediately looked up, when he fixed him with the most murderous, blood-thirsty stare the Hobbit had yet seen in this whole adventure, because the Orc had relinquished his hold and Thorin was no longer in danger.

“Do you remember me, you brute?” Bilbo called out, unnecessarily. Azog’s glare and the way he came at him in a purposeful stomp said that he did. Being shown up twice by a Hobbit was too much of an insult to put from his mind, even when his prize lay prone on the ground…or _did_ ; Thorin had made a stealthy effort to get back on his feet and approach the Orc from behind.

Bilbo continued to thwart and distract.

“I’m not afraid of you! I bested you once, I can do it again!”

Bilbo realized this wasn’t entirely true. Had it been only he and Thorin against Azog in that time before, he likely wouldn’t still be alive. It didn’t matter, nothing else did when it came to protecting his friend.

The feeling seemed to be mutual, as just before Azog could make the climb up to the ledge Bilbo stood on, Thorin had taken a hold of him and proceeded to run the Elven blade through the center of the Orc’s chest.

Azog’s angered glare soon turned to one of pained confusion…then, utter lifelessness as his eyes crossed and rolled back in his skull. Thorin kicked his corpse forward, the weight of which made the ice crack beneath them when it landed.

He realized his mistake only after the ice began to splinter, come loose and glide on the free water beneath. A sheer drop off a waterfall was the fate that now awaited the next of Durin’s kin in place of a fell blade.

But not if Bilbo had anything to do with it…or Fili, Kili and the Silvan Elf Captain, all three of whom came trotting up in that moment, blessedly safe.

“We need a rope!” Bilbo decided, scrambling down the ledge and on to the side snow bank. “We need…something!”

Thorin was also searching for some means of escape despite being very far into the expanse of continuously cracking ice. When Fili made a misguided attempt to venture out and retrieve his uncle, both the Silvan Elf and Thorin cried out to stop him.

“Just-…hang on!” Bilbo called out. “I won’t let you fall…!”

The promise was hollow, though Bilbo so desperately wished it didn’t have to be. As it was, he had no means of safely retrieving Thorin before the ice carried him and the corpse of his greatest enemy off the side of the cliff.

Oh, where was Gandalf? Where was anyone, anything that could offer some help? Surely this was not to be the King’s end, not after all of his efforts. Bilbo pleaded with any force that would listen, ‘ _Please, save him. If I ask you for nothing else as long as I live, please let it just be to spare his life…’_

Fate was merciful, for it was in that moment of pure helplessness, when Thorin and Bilbo exchanged a look that spoke of all the things they hadn’t said…that the clear outline of the Great Eagles appeared in the clouds.

“The Eagles…the Eagles!” Bilbo exclaimed, his relieved disbelief beyond anything words could qualify. These majestic beings from the heavens had saved his King once before and so they would again. One of the many swooped down low, took Thorin into the secure clutches of its talons and deposited him safely on the ledge with the rest of Durin’s kin before flying forward to aid on the battle field.

Azog’s body was forgotten as it floated off the edge of the waterfall into oblivion. Fili, Kili and Thorin were far too preoccupied with embracing one another and celebrating their impossible victory to care about retrieving his head in compensation. Bilbo felt similarly as he clambered back up to the ledge, wanting nothing more in that moment than to assure himself that his King was safe.

It played out almost the same as it did before when the Eagles first retrieved him: Thorin, having caught sight of Bilbo, had only eyes for his Hobbit. His nephews somehow understood this without being told, standing aside to let their uncle through as he came forward and took him into his arms. Bilbo wasn’t caught off-guard this time, instead hugging back, carding fingers through Thorin’s thick hair and letting tears fall onto his shoulder.

“Again, you’ve saved my life,” Thorin said, having pulled far enough away to look into Bilbo’s eyes while still keeping him in his arms. “Again…I am lost without you.”

Nothing needed to be said of the argument on the battlements. Bilbo had forgiven Thorin a split-second after his threat and Thorin, it seemed, had come to an understanding of Bilbo’s motives.

* * *

 

The six of them –the Prince of Mirkwood in tow- returned to the devastation left behind by war and a bittersweet hero’s welcome, nonetheless. Thorin was no longer Bilbo’s after that and understandably so as there was much to be resolved, plenty of aftermath to be sorted. As King Under The Mountain, all of this responsibility fell to him.

Even with his selfish yearnings and the terrible business that war left in its wake, there was a lot of good that Bilbo could report. Thorin’s opinion of Elves was much changed from that day forward and just as generously as he had forgiven Bilbo, he forgave and forgot the tenuous history between their people. Of the many ceremonies and celebrations held since their return, Thorin added another just for the purpose of giving Thranduil the jewels he was rightfully due, which led to a return in their alliance. When Kili and Tauriel –as Bilbo came to learn the Silvan Elf was named- sheepishly approached Thorin for his blessing of their union, he offered it to them happily and claimed there was nothing better to usher in the start of new age, of peace between the Dwarrow and the Elves. In addition to all of this, Bard and the men of Laketown were paid double their share from the Erebor troves and the Arkenstone…the Arkenstone, Bilbo was so very pleased to say, was buried far underground in the graves of the Dwarves that had fallen in battle.

Life was very quickly returning to some sense of normalcy as the Dwarves worked together to rebuild their mighty kingdom. Bilbo had no doubt they would bring Erebor back to its former glory, especially with a King like Thorin reigning over them. It was this that made him realize, perhaps much later than he should have, that Thorin belonged to Erebor just as _he_ did to the Shire. This would not be so difficult to come terms with had there not been something between them that Bilbo often thought might continue long after the journey was over.

That had been a foolish notion. Didn’t his story books teach him that Kings belonged to their people? That he could avidly hope _his_ King might be his and his alone- he, a simple Hobbit…it was so very selfish of him.

It was for this reason that he stayed just long enough to see Thorin’s official coronation ceremony. The moment the crown was on his head, as had been planned, Bilbo slipped from the feast hall to the dwindling chill of a late winter’s night. Still within his Dwarrow finery, he merely slung a cloak over his shoulder and placed his bags on the haunches of his pony.

“Are you certain?” Gandalf asked around the stem of his pipe from where he waited on his own steed’s saddle.

Bilbo nodded, his mind made up.

“Yes…this has been a grand adventure, Gandalf, and I cannot thank you for it enough…but I think I am quite ready to go home. The Shire is where I belong.”

Bilbo trotted forward then, expecting his wizard to follow. He did not see Gandalf glance up at the battlements of Erebor. He did not see Thorin, dressed in all the gold of a King, standing up there before his successfully reclaimed kingdom, looking out with sad eyes as his Hobbit left forever.

* * *

 

Bilbo, in his time gone, had somehow forgotten the utter isolation of his home from the rest of the world. This was thrown into sharp relief when his welcome back was not that of a hero’s, but rather a large auction of all his worldly possessions, due to the assumption that he had most likely died…and the fact that the farmer with the prize hog and largest heirloom tomatoes was more of a hero in Hobbiton than Bilbo would ever be. Dragons and Dwarf Kingdoms were still little more than elements of a fairy tale in The Shire and Bilbo knew, even as he fought for his belongings, that it was in his best interest not to boast the details of his adventure. As far the legalities of his estate were concerned, Mr. Baggins had simply returned from the extended employment of someone with a funny name.

And he supposed that even with the detailed, fantastical memories he held of all that had happened in his time gone, that was really all it amounted to now.

With not much left to do, Bilbo set to work rebuilding the life he once had. He cleaned his home, he set furniture pieces, silverware and decorative bits back to where they had once been. He read his books, he tended to his garden, he swept, he cooked, he smoked his pipe- all of it a game of trying to wedge puzzle pieces back into slots they didn’t quite fit anymore. Indeed, he had changed as Gandalf had promised, no longer the Hobbit he was when he left.

Most days, he felt utterly alone aside from the ring he usually kept tucked in one of his pockets. He knew it was probably silly to think of the bit of jewelry as a companion but, after all, it had been his saving grace so many times. The ring had been there with him most of the journey, it knew what he had felt and seen when others could not understand…and for that reason, it was precious to him in a way he couldn’t define.

And so, he continued on this way for at least a year until the knock came.

The knock came on a night very much like the one in which the _first_ knock came, the one that had begun his fateful journey that he could no longer discern as a memory or a dream. This time around he had only just sat down with a book and a steaming cup of chamomile tea. The Bilbo from before would no doubt have bristled, ignored the knock, and pretended to not be at home. The Bilbo that remained, however -whether the journey had been real or merely a figment of his slumbering imagination- jumped-to almost immediately, _eager_ to be interrupted from his relaxation.

‘ _What do you expect?’_ he asked himself mentally as he tightened the tie of his robe and walked eagerly to the door. ‘ _A Dwarf, requesting your aid on another big adventure? Likely, it’s just Lobelia come to try to keep swindling you out of house and home…or a salesman, perhaps.’_

Bilbo paid the logical thoughts no heed as he answered the door and was very soon glad that he didn’t. If he had ignored the knocking, he would’ve missed the heart-stopping sight that was towering Thorin Oakenshield on the other side, humbled in his simple traveler’s wear and cloak. His ice-blue eyes never looked warmer as they locked with Bilbo’s.

“Thorin…!” Bilbo managed, his voice breaking. “I-…you-…?”

What was he to do, after all? Was it meant to be easy for him to just step aside and invite Thorin Oakenshield in for tea and biscuits? After everything?

His Dwarf, as it turned out, had other plans. Thorin fell to one knee and there, right on the threshold of Bag End, proceeded to ask Bilbo for his hand in marriage. His request had no doubt been eloquent and heartfelt; Bilbo could discern as much from the snippets that his racing mind had managed to retain. This included:

“You are worth more than all the treasure in Erebor…I have been so foolish not to realize the true desires of my heart sooner…a Dwarf only gives his heart once and I have already given you mine…a life lived without you, Bilbo, with or without a crown, is not worth living…”

And Bilbo’s response to all this heartfelt eloquence was a stammered,

“Y-you’re-…wait, so you’re…p-proposing…m-marriage? To _me_ …?”

Thorin smiled, the same he had offered many times, the same that was enough to make Bilbo’s knees weak. He pulled something from an inner pocket and closed Bilbo’s fingers around it. Bilbo didn’t need to look to know it was the acorn, the same from Beorn’s, the same that had been mistaken for the Arkenstone, the same that had saved Thorin’s life.

“With this…” Thorin said. “I ask you to be mine…and if you decline, then you may at least use it to grow an oak tree to forever shield your home…as I assume you had intended.”

Bilbo went rigid and felt a very similar light-headedness to what had met him when first hearing of Smaug.

After all, he had never really fancied himself the marrying type. Life in the Shire had been far from lonely before his trip, he had been content to share his Hobbit Hole with no one. He thought it likely he would never meet anyone to earn his favor in that way –and not for a lack of some interested prospects-. He didn’t mind leaving stories of true love to the characters in his books. It seemed a rather troublesome business on the whole anyway, what with the descriptions of often losing one’s appetite over the whole thing.

Bilbo realized he really had no concept of it before meeting his Dwarf Prince. No description in a book, no epic tale could prepare him for what it felt like to really give someone his heart. It snuck up on him as a spider might to its prey and he was completely, hopelessly snagged in the web before he realized he was anywhere near. It was somehow, simultaneously, the most wonderful, terrible thing he had ever endured. The sun rose with Thorin’s smile and his soft words of encouragement, things that seemed reserved only for his Hobbit. When things seemed hopeless, when Thorin was in danger, when Bilbo wondered if the feelings between them were mutual, when Bilbo made the horrible decision to leave Thorin forever, it had been the worst pain he had ever known.  

But in this moment, long after all the trials and tribulations, Bilbo was left with only one realization: Thorin was the only one he had ever avidly desired to give his life, his heart.

“Oh, Thorin…” he sighed, relief flooding him. “I’ve been yours far longer than I think you realize…I forfeit. Take me now, for everything that I am.”

They came together in a disjointed, desperate clambering of limbs. In the split second before they closed the door behind them they likely made the most lewd display of unhindered affection that anyone in the Shire would have ever seen…thank goodness, then, that most Hobbits were tucked safely into their homes for the night, unaware of Bilbo’s unfettered romance with a Dwarf King.

Dwarves were uninhibited when it came to love, or so Bilbo could discern from the way Thorin handled him. It made sense, really, given how they coveted and treasured their belongings, given how freely they displayed physical affection. It all came together ten-fold now. Thorin seemed caught somewhere between handling Bilbo as if he were made of glass and wanting to smother him in hot kisses and rough touches, to drink him in completely.

Bilbo didn’t mind any of it at all, it was so above and beyond any kind of romantic meeting he had ever known prior. In between getting each other’s clothes off, kissing and touching in just the right way, they both would occasionally laugh in disbelief.

“Is this a dream?” Bilbo found himself wondering aloud.

Thorin growled a bit against his neck. “If so, it is a very good dream…and your interruption is not appreciated, Mr. Baggins.”

Bilbo smiled and rolled them over so that he was perched on Thorin’s lap.

“Duly noted,” he purred and Thorin made some beautiful whimpering noise as he carded his fingers through Bilbo’s hair and kissed him again.

* * *

 

Bilbo hadn’t thought very much of what married life between them would look like- that is to say, in a practical sense. It was difficult to think straight between a sudden marriage proposal and Thorin bringing him to a kind of physical pleasure he had never known before. That had been more his Tookish side, he supposed, all leap and no think. The morning after, however, when he and his Dwarf sat sleepy, self-satisfied and very much in love at his breakfast table, the conversation happened at behest of his Baggins practicality.

“So…am I to be swept off to Erebor? Will I be…bedecked in jewels and royal finery? Made a Prince-Consort, perhaps?”

Thorin smiled and swallowed his breakfast before answering, “Would you mind that?”

“It would be an adjustment…” Bilbo admitted. “But I could manage. If I’m honest, I only truly feel at home wherever you are.”

Returning to the place he had been born and raised and being made to feel like an absolute stranger had alerted him to this fact. Bag End only regained its former comfort when Bilbo was sharing its roof with his betrothed. No doubt this would be the same even in the Great Halls of Erebor.

Thorin nodded and took Bilbo’s hand in his own. “I feel the same…and that is why I’ve forfeited my throne.”

Bilbo felt his stomach lurch at the news. He shot up from his seat, shocked and indignant that his husband-to-be would do something so foolish.

“Thorin, how could you? You have worked tirelessly! We all nearly lost our lives one hundred times over for-“

“For the restoration of Erebor,” Thorin finished, rising from his chair to take a stiffened, reluctant Bilbo into his arms. “I have left the royal duties in the capable hands of my sister, Dís, for she does not share my same vulnerability to the sickness. It should never have been about my right to the throne, Bilbo. Our journey was indeed a mission to discover my purpose…and so I have done, in your company.”

Bilbo’s angered disbelief was forgotten when Thorin titled his chin and kissed him, there in his breakfast nook, as if the stars were falling around them and the oceans were lapping at their ankles.

* * *

 

Their wedding became the event of the season in The Shire- and elsewhere. After all, it wasn’t very often that a Dwarf Prince and a Baggins were joined in holy matrimony. Their guest list included every Hobbit willing to see the affair take place, every Dwarf that would make the long journey (which was most of them, as it turned out), the sole elf that was Tauriel in Prince Kili’s company (whom the Hobbit girls were endlessly taken with and could be seen, often, dancing around her as if she was a maypole) and, of course, Gandalf with his fireworks.

In the true Hobbit tradition of a Spring wedding, the couple was wreathed in flowers of every imaginable color, their fine wedding threads barely visible beneath the soft petals. Bilbo was certain he had never seen a lovelier sight than that of his stoic, majestic Thorin Oakenshield covered in the flowers of his homeland.

It was like this that they pledged themselves to one another in front of their loved ones. Bilbo found himself hoping that whatever force it was that had tried to keep them apart was now sulking miserably in defeat.  

The reception that followed afterward had to have been the grandest celebration any of them would see. There was not a soul present that didn’t have a wide grin, rosy cheeks and a healthy appetite for dancing, singing and making merry. Hobbits, as it turned out, celebrated in a very similar fashion to the Dwarrow, leaving no one out of place.

Thorin and Bilbo enjoyed all of this for a time, but eventually peeled away to watch the merriment from a ledge and share their first pipe as a wedded couple. They spoke little, intent on enjoying the moment and one another’s company in silence.

‘ _Things could have been very different,_ ’ Bilbo thought to himself, laying his head on his husband’s chest. ‘ _Indeed, fate smiles on us…and I am grateful for it.’_

 


End file.
